The (D)evil Within
by ImpalaLove
Summary: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 7. Sam's POV- "It's surreal to have a mind that is not my own. To share my head with a monster." Not set during a particular episode.


**SPOILERS for Season 7. Sam's POV. **

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The (D)evil Within

It's surreal to have a mind that is not my own. To share my head with a monster. He haunts my every waking moment, burrows deep into every crevice of my tattered mind, bringing to light all the things I'd rather forget. He tugs relentlessly at my insecurities, drowning me in doubt and self-loathing until I wonder why I ever even mattered in the first place. Until all I wish for is one gun and one bullet and one last thought of the sweetest thing that still remains before the ring of a gunshot echoes against my temple.

The Devil has dug himself so deep inside me that I've forgotten who I am. Forgotten _where_ I am. I can't tell what's real and I can't decide if it matters anyway and even my brother's face shimmers before me like a mirage, shrouding his words in a cloaked indifference that doesn't match the voice I remember. I search his eyes anyway, hoping to find some kind of reassurance in his stare. And sometimes I think I see that flicker of "Dean"; the one that tells me it's really him. But other times his eyes are empty, vacant. A bottomless pool of green with no end in sight and no hope to be found.

Those are the worst days.

The ones where Lucifer laughs the loudest; plunges deep into my darkest thoughts, my most secret nightmares. He reminds me of all the times I've let my brother down, all the wrong decisions that compose my long-buried memories. It's an endless slideshow of my sins, and he has yet to run out of scenes to flash my way, mixing them in amongst memories from Hell that seem so real and surround me so completely that I think maybe I'll never find my way back out. And then Dean will come into the room and he'll take in my stricken expression and that's when the comforting starts. Different words, but always the same message.

"It's not real. He's not real. It's all in your head."

And sometimes the reassurances are so generic that I think maybe it really _is_ all in my head. Just not in the way Dean wants me to believe. I mean, it wouldn't be hard for my brain to supply those tired responses to my so-called flashbacks while I actually continue to rot in Hell, lost in this fake world of Lucifer's creation. He told me himself, letting me _think_ I escaped is the best, most ingenious kind of torture. It makes sense. So I just stare back at the face in front of me and I keep up the act. Flash my own fake smile as I look at the faded memory of my brother that's not real _not real_. And I let myself exist there anyway because it's better than facing where I really am. _Hell. Still in Hell._

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Other days I think I've finally found my way back to the surface. Those are the days when I really do believe I'm back up top, hunting and killing with my brother again. It feels messy and it feels right and I sink easily back into that pattern, not letting the corners of my vision slip too much to reveal the figure that lurks just beyond my peripheral. He's still there though, always there. His presence a constant reminder that I'm not okay, maybe never will be again.

But one more look at my brother tells me that it's alright for now. As long as I keep it contained. Right now I just have to worry about looking out for the guy who sits beside me and catches my eye from the driver's seat, steady and calm as ever. Dean is my stone number one, my first building block in the construction of the wall between reality and hallucination. He told me this himself, pressed his presence relentlessly into the scar on my palm until I believed it wholeheartedly. He looks at me now, a small smile pulling at his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Wanna drive for a bit?" he asks.

Trusting as ever. Like nothing's changed. Letting me take the wheel while he knows full well that there's a truckload of crazy still rolling around inside my head. I want to cry, want to scream at him and ask him how he could be so calm. How he could look at me the same way he used to before it all literally went to Hell. And most of all, I want to thank him. Want to grab him by the shoulders and tell him how much that simple question means to me. But I don't. Because I don't want to ruin this perfect balance we've somehow managed to maintain. Don't want to tip the balance back towards chaos after fighting so hard to stay afloat. So instead, I just nod.

And as I slide behind the wheel and feel that familiar rumble of the engine through to my fingertips, I think that maybe I can still trust myself.

Maybe if Dean still believes in me, I can find a way to prove him right.

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